


Points and Edges

by cjmarlowe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Formerly Anonymous, Gen, Missing Scene, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-25
Updated: 2011-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-17 15:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjmarlowe/pseuds/cjmarlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty watches and waits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Points and Edges

**Author's Note:**

> For the sherlockbbc_fic prompt: Moriarty wanted to play with Sherlock. The taxi driver was all a part of that. But what if John hadn't shown up - surely Moriarty didn't want to just have Sherlock killed at the hand of some bitter old man? There's no game in that, nothing to entertain him. So what was the plan?

Jim know he's a classic micromanager. He embraces it. It's _fun_ to make the puppets dance, and if you want to do that you have to be close enough to hold the strings.

After all, what would be the point of issuing Sherlock this challenge if he didn't show up for the endgame?

It's not the first time Jim's dared to get up close, brushing up against the edges of Sherlock's life, breathing fog onto the fragile glass between them and watching it fade away without a trace. It's nearly time to take a hammer to it, but not yet. Not tonight.

Tonight he just watches, fingertips moving restlessly against the window frame, murmuring cues to both men that neither can hear. _Turn_ this _way, sit_ here _, take_ that _bottle._ The game is for Sherlock, but the show is for him.

It's easy to find desperate men in the world, but harder to find ones with the right combination of smarts and amorality that Jim needs; the intelligent ones want to play their own game, the thugs don't care for games at all. It's almost a shame that this one's quickly coming to his end, and it _is_ his end, one way or another.

Jim can't make a aneurysm blow, but it's shockingly easy to induce a stroke. All Jim has to do is push a button and the hidden mechanism will activate, the needle will puncture skin and his cabbie--bought and paid for all those months ago and three degrees removed from him--will all but drop on the spot.

Not too soon, of course. After all, he wants Sherlock to _win_ , and the way to win is always to change the rules. Jim is here to see how this all plays out. Too soon and this little branch of his operation will have all been for nothing; too soon and he never knows whether or not Sherlock passes.

Sherlock calling the cabbie's bluff makes Jim want to clap; Sherlock's susceptibility to being drawn back into the challenge both intriguing and disappointing, but not unexpected.

The gunshot, though--the gunshot is a surprise.

For a moment he's furious, almost furious enough to jam his thumb on the button in futile redundancy. But not quite. The gun is _uninvited_ , the shooter an interloper, but it cannot be unfired. And Jim is not inflexible; in that moment he, too, changes the rules.

A quiet, discreet murder is no longer necessary. He doesn't even have to frame anyone for this one.

And really, it makes everything so delightfully dramatic, even before the scene builds to its inevitable grand reveal. There's something so viscerally _satisfying_ about hearing his name cried out in agony. He couldn't have scripted it better himself.

The police are going to come now, of course; Jim would've called them himself if he hadn't already been sure of that, because there's no _drama_ if they're left out of the game. He slips away into the night before he hears them, his faith in Sherlock firm and his interest in Sherlock's friend with the gun unexpectedly piqued.

Oh yes, he knows who the shooter is. It only took him a moment to sort it out.

One day that knowledge will likely come in handy.


End file.
